Daughter of the Blight: the Tale of Sila Darklover
by Otter Seastar
Summary: In the Third Age, a Saldaean girl falls in love with a Myrddraal. This is her story. Includes Aiel, Aes Sedai and large numbers of assorted Shadowspawn.
1. Prolouge: Blighted Child

A/N added with Chapter 13 upload: I wrote this story (starting 5 years ago) to explore the off-battlefield lives of Shadowspawn, which RJ said very little about, and to exercise one of my monster-lovin' probably-Mary-Sue avatars. It's not a parody, but not meant to closely fit the rules of the canon world. The plot is wildly far-Fetched, and deliberately so. I've tried to keep the setting and style authentic, though I've tweaked a few Shadowspawn facts and invented many more. Some of the following chapters have notes to that effect. I don't own WoT or any characters therein, although I wouldn't mind having my own Dragkhar. ;-)

This saga begins in a village on the Saldaean Blightborder, roughly forty years before The Eye of the World 

Prologue: Blighted Child

Flames painted Eran's weathered features with ruddy light and danced across eager faces of his grandchildren as they sat about the hearth. As Lord of House Wethrin, Eran had fought Trollocs in the Blight for threescore years, and the children loved hearing him tell of his adventures.

"…and we never found his body. My friend had ended up, no doubt, over a Trolloc fire, his death fueling yet more evil.

"I had thought we were safe, a mile outside the Blight. I learned that night to never let my guard down, ever. You shouldn't either. Even if you don't go looking for Trollocs, they'll look for you. Nowhere is safe, not even this keep can—"

The door opened and a long, horned shadow loomed across the room. The children screamed and clung to each other. Grim-faced, Eran reached for his bow—and then realized that the shadow was cast by a little girl. A pair of goat horns, roughly carved from bits of wood someone had left lying around, were strung on a rope tied around her head.

"Sila! What is the meaning of this?"

She clapped her hands gleefully. "I'm a Trolloc, I'm a Trolloc!"

Tearing the horns off, he cuffed her. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Covering dogs with soot and calling them Darkhounds, speaking gibberish you think is Trolloc language, now frightening other children! Go to your room."

She faltered. "But Grandda, I'm a Trolloc."

"No, you're an impertinent child. Go."

Tears in her eyes, the girl crept away. Eran shook his head. He knew Sila's father, a stern and ruthless man, would beat her, but what else could he do? The child had an unholy fascination with Shadowspawn, and nothing he said could convince her that they were foul, deadly creatures, intent on destroying the world. _Somehow_, he thought, _she must be made to listen, and to fear the Blight._


	2. Darklover

Darklover

Sila pressed her face to an arrow-slit in the wall of her family's keep, trying to see out. A warm wind blew from the Blight, bringing a rich, heady scent like fields at harvest; of life unfettered and unafraid. From far in the distance came a high, sweet fluting of voices, tugging her soul.

She ground her teeth. How she hated these walls holding her prisoner, while marvels lay just beyond her reach. Her brothers and cousins had all left, many to hunt Trollocs. She was forbidden to leave the keep, forced to act happy when they came home boasting of how many they had killed. Inside, she wept for every death.

There seemed no escape. No man would marry the strange girl who liked Shadowspawn. She was a skilled healer, so she might be able to make a living treating villagers' ailments. But without the freedom and companionship she longed for, her life would be misery.

Suddenly, there he was—a Myrddraal gliding out of the Blight. Her breath caught. Peace, but he was _beautiful_. Tall, slim, with gleaming black hair and skin the pristine white of new snow. The liquid grace of his movements set her pulse racing, and without pause for thought she was running down the stairs, through the keep and out the door, towards him.

Her brother Taeric was entering the keep when she tore past him. Following her with his eyes, he saw the Myrddraal at the edge of the forest. Gasping in fear, he sprinted after her and grabbed her arm. "Sila, nooo!"

A fire kindled within Sila, born from years of beatings and stern lectures, silent tears and desperate loneliness. Rage washing over her, she turned and sunk her teeth into Taeric's hand.

He screamed and let go, and she ran off, beyond capture. He ran back to the keep, crying that Sila had run off with a Fade.

Eran sighed sadly and closed his eyes. "Her heart was ever given to the Blight. Why will remain a mystery"

Their father's eyes grew hard as obsidian. "No child of mine turns to the Shadow. I have no daughter, and the woman who for nineteen years has lived ungratefully under this roof will henceforth be known as Sila Darklover."


	3. Healer's Homecoming

THANK YOU to my reviewers so far--it's wonderful to hear from you!

Now I'll start making things _interesting _(for fellow Shadowspawn addicts, anyway).

Healer's Homecoming

Zear'ell was, to say the least, surprised when a female human came running into the Blight and threw herself at him. But he wasn't about to turn down a freely-given prize, so, aborting his scouting mission; he snatched her up and fled back to his horse before other humans could give chase.

As they galloped into the Blight, the girl didn't struggle. How strange—he had been told that humans were terrified of his kind. But the world was vast and he was young.

He had never known a female, being too busy overseeing a breeding colony of Ko'bal Trollocs to procure one. During his training at Shayol Ghul, older Myddraal who came for new swords had spoken of the pleasures provided by torturing humans, especially females, and he was glad of the chance to experience it for himself.

He glanced at his captive, sitting in front of him. Her long black hair blew out behind her, and her tilted eyes shone with joy. She was quite pretty. But grinning ecstatically. How very strange.

At last they arrived at his colony's territory. Dismounting, but retaining a tight grip on the human, he summoned them to him with a mind-command.

In a few minutes, a horde of little Trollocs rushed out of the undergrowth and stopped, standing obediently at attention. Their husky bodies were covered in soft hair. Short knives hung from the belts that were their only clothing.

They were quickly followed by a fist of adult female Trollocs, most of them pregnant or holding babes. A handful of near-adults—male and female—stood among them.

Zear'ell swept his gaze over them, looking for missing ones. There were none. Good. Then he grimaced: a nearly-grown, ram-horned male had a long, nasty gash on one arm, probably from a fight with his peers.

Sighing, Zear'ell reached for his sword. He hated to cull a Trolloc, when every one his colony produced brought him closer to promotion. But the wound would fester in the Blight's disease-laden air. Best to kill this one now, before it began to starve and meat was lost.

In a flash, the girl broke free of his grip and was among the Trollocs. Zear'ell froze them all with a glance before they could attack her—she belonged to him! He was about to grasp her back when he realized that she had pulled a pouch of herbs from her cloak and was rubbing salve on the young Trolloc's wound. Storing the salve away, she tore a strip of cloth from her dress, and wound it like a bandage around the wound, saying "You poor creature. Let me tend that wound"

For a moment, everyone stared. Then, a heavily pregnant young female moaned softly and fell to her knees.

The girl was at her side in an instant, examining her. She looked up at Zear'ell, eyes full of concern. "She's giving birth. But she's very weak and malnourished. I don't know if she'll survive, but I have to try to help her. Please keep the others away."

Zear'ell mind-bound the Trollocs and sent them away, thinking_ How kind of her to heal a few of my creatures before I torment her to death. If I _can_ torment her. She doesn't act like humans are supposed to; maybe she can't be hurt. What shall I do then? Perhaps I could keep her alive._

An hour later, the Trolloc lay exhausted, sweat pouring down her goat-muzzle. A female newborn wailed and squirmed in her arms. Stroking the pair tenderly, the girl stood up and looked imploringly at Zear'ell. "The babe might not live. She and her mother need food so desperately. Oh, can you help? Oh, you are so...so..."

Zear'ell gazed at her deft hands and high cheekbones. _She really is quite lovely. And her healing skills will raise the colony's productivity. Soon I might be allowed to lead raids! That settles it: I'm keeping her. _

"What is your name?" he asked, drawing closer to her.

"Sila." It was an utterance of breathless delight.

He embraced her, meeting no resistance. "You are mine now, Sila. Welcome to the Blight"


	4. Through Trolloc Eyes

Thanks to all of my reviewers!!!

**Bold **text has been translated from Trolloc language.

Through Trolloc Eyes

As dawn broke red-golden over the twisted trees of the Blightwood, Raka was awakened by the cries of her infant, Laerv. Narrowing her eyes against the light, she began to nurse him. _She _preferred to sleep during the day, but Trolloc mothers slept and woke with their offspring.

All around her, the life of the colony continued as usual. Females slept or tended babes while younglings played their vicious games. A female entering camp with a horse carcass was beset by a dozen squealing younglings. Flailing about with the flat of her trident, she sent them sprawling—all but a bear-snouted male who hurled himself on the meat, ripping voraciously at it.

Hunger gnawed incessantly at Raka's belly. It had been days since her last meal. But Laerv's nursing had sapped her energy greatly, and she was too weak to hunt. Many Trolloc mothers died trying to feed their insatiable offspring, and she feared that would soon be her fate.

Khirait minced by on her little hooves. Seeing Raka, she tossed her sleek head disdainfully and turned to show off a white gleam at her breast.

Raka snarled silently. So, that snippy Khirait had borne a Myrddraal. Always looking down her muzzle at others, she would be insufferable now that greater status had been conferred on her.

Looking away to avoid the sight, she saw a human coming towards her: the female Zear'ell had brought. Prey!

Twin fountains of hunger rose within her. Urgent physical need long-restrained by inability to satisfy it coupled with the ravenous killing-lust inborn in all Trollocs sent wild glee coursing through her as she grabbed the spear lying beside her and raised it above her head, preparing to kill—

And stopped. The human belonged to Zear'ell. He would kill Raka if she destroyed his possession. She remembered how he had whipped a youngling severely for tearing his cloak.

In this moment of indecision, the human looked up at Raka and said "Bhai'kaal". A Trolloc greeting, meaning "You will suffer if you kill me"

Raka nearly dropped the spear.** "You speak Trolloc?"**

The human smiled. **"Not...good. Zear'ell is...teach me. My...name is Sila. What is you?"**

**"My name is Raka. This is Laerv"**. Raka thought furiously. She didn't want Zear'ell to kill her, but without food she would soon die anyway. And yet...Sila had healed Nrab's arm and saved Ghaeri from birthing-death. Such skills were precious in the dangerous world of the Blight.

**"Laerv"** Sila stroked the baby's tiny horn-buds and sealed ears. Turning, he clamped toothless jaws on her hand.

She laughed. **"He is hungry!"** Her smile faded as her eyes moved over Raka's gaunt frame. "You are hungry. No eat, you die"

She pointed to Raka's spear. **"Give. I hunt for you, you teach me speak good Trolloc"**

It took a moment for Raka to understand. Sila was offering to get food for her, in exchange for lessons in Trolloc language! It seemed a risky offer—would Sila just take the spear and kill her? But why would she do that, when she had healed others?

Her belly decided for her. Any chance to eat was vital. She held out the spear.

Sila took it. **"I hunt, you teach me good"**. Smiling, she walked off.

Warm joy washed over Raka. She would eat, and live! There were no Trolloc words for expressing gratitude, so she called out the kindest thing she could: **"I will never eat you, Sila!"**


	5. A Lonely Heart Burning

I know these chapters are short, and I'm trying to make them longer. In response to comments about the rating--I don't think this story will be very bloody. A few threats of violence perhaps, but nothing beyond a T. Sorry if you were looking for that.

And as I should have said before, I don't own WoT.

A Lonely Heart Burning

Seira's fingers trembled as she slid a heated knife under the red wax seal marked with a crossed sword and arrow. A message to Narika Aes Sedai, from Wethrin a minor Saldaean house. At last, news from the Borderlands!

As an Accepted in the White Tower, Seira knew that she could be severely punished for reading a message sent to a Sister, especially Narika. But the fierce Green was devoted to fighting the Shadow and had ordered all Borderland rulers to inform her of Shadowspawn movements in their realms. A letter to her would surely contain interesting information.

As a child in southern Altara, Seira was awed by tales of the Blight: the land of fantastic monsters, the land that consumed. On many an evening, she had watched a gleeman performing in the Village Green, weaving tapestries of lore in the sultry air, brimming with curiosity about the creatures he described. What did they eat in the Blight? What were their thoughts like? How did they _breed_? These questions kept her tossing through the hot nights. But nobody would answer them. Nobody else really believed the stories; they were just to amuse people.

When the spark of _saidar_ showed in her, she had gone to the Tower to learn the truth, to learn all she could about that fascinating place. But she found little information even there; every scrap had to be wrested from dull old books or patiently wheedled out of a sister. That few should be interested in such a vast piece of the world baffled and frustrated her endlessly.

As she read the letter, her heart began pounding. Taeric, the young lord of Wethrin, was declaring that his sister Sila had gone mad at the sight of a Myrddraal and run off with him. Not _captured_, he emphasized, _run off_, and did Narika Sedai know how the creature could have made her do that?

It was all Seira could do to keep from leaping with excitement. She tasted the sultry air of Altaran twilight, childish excitement poured through her. _Could someone else be interested in Shadowspawn? Might I not be alone? _Slipping out of the pigeon cote and tucking the letter into her bodice, she hurried to find her friend Mierelan Lutrassi.

Mierelan was sitting under a tree, reading as usual. Sunlight filtering through its leaves dappled her long, fair hair. Seira pulled on her sleeve, whispering "Look at this, Miere!"

Mierelan looked up, sea-green eyes troubled. "I wish you would be more careful, Seira. You could get roasted alive for what I think you've been doing"

"I'll show you in our cave, then! Come on!" Grabbing Mierelan's arm, Seira hauled her through the Tower gardens until they reached a large bush, which she wriggled under. There, hidden by dense leafy boughs, was a small hollow that Mierelan fancifully called a "cave". Crouching in the cramped space, Seira shoved the letter under her friend's nose. "Just look at this!"

Mierelan read the letter quickly and handed it back, frowning. "That's very odd. I haven't heard of any noble Saldaean families carrying a strain of insanity, and surely Lord Taeric would have known if his sister was mad. But why would he lie to Narika Sedai?"

"You mean you don't believe him?" Seira asked, stung.

"It doesn't make sense. According to everything I've read or heard, Borderlanders live under constant threat of Shadowspawn attack and spend their lives battling the Blight. I know _you _think you would find Myrddraal irresistible, Seira Kestryn, but you aren't Saldaaen. This would make for an interesting study, but I'll consider it later" And she bent back over her book.

_"Mierelan" _Exasperated, Seira grabbed the book, ripping it slightly. Mierelan snatched it back, squealing, "Don't, it's precious!"

Seira read the title "Birds and Beasts of Western Andor is precious?"

"_Yes_. Eleara Sedai says that if I study it well enough, she'll let me help her collect specimens in the Mountains of Mist this summer. I'll see eagles, wild cats, maybe discover a new kind of fish…" A dreamy expression crossed her face, and then she was all sharpness. "But if I damage her book, she'll never take me anywhere"

"Didn't you grow up in Andor?"

Mierelan sighed. "As I've told you before, I grew up in a filthy little town on the Plains of Maredo and never even saw a living fish, much less a bear. Eleara Sedia is giving me a chance to see a decent part of the world, and I'm not going to ruin it. Oh! I forgot—she's going to tutor me in sampling methods now. Tell me if you learn any more about your Myrddraal-lover"

With that, she slithered out from under the bushes and ran off. Still hiding, oblivious to the dirt on her white dress, Seira sighed. She and Mierelan were bonded by a desire to become Brown sisters, to seek knowledge while other girls were throwing fire around or dreaming of their future Warders. But Miere devoured information indiscriminately, like a stray dog feeding at a midden, and she read so much that the sisters called her "little Ogier", a title she relished. To her, the Blight was no more or less interesting than anything else. She didn't share Seira's passion for learning about Shadowspawn…but perhaps this mysterious Sila did. _Could there really be someone far, far away, who feels as I do?_ _What must it be like to live in the Blight, surrounded by wonders I can only imagine? She must know more than I could ever learn, if I live to be a thousand. _

She channeled a tiny spark to melt the wax and re-seal the letter, then tucked it away and emerged from the "cave". Sitting on the grass, she gazed up at the sky, recalled a name dredged from an ancient book in the deepest vault of the Tower library, and uttered a silent prayer:

_Oh Aginor, great smith of living treasures, let the one who lives among your creations thrive and be joyful. My thoughts are with you, sister in shadow. _


	6. Raven Heart and Eyes of Flame

(Apologies to anyone who read this already--I forgot to bold the Trolloc translations)

Raven Heart and Eyes of Flame

Sitting outside her black tent in the Blightwood, Sila gazed lovingly down at the newborn girl in her arms. Starlight filtered through the trees, as night slid toward day, and one more life had begun in the Blight.

In the year she had spent with her family of Trollocs—they felt more like family than her blood kin ever had—they had traveled along the Blightborder from the shores of the Dead Sea to just east of Tarwin's Gap. Under her care, the colony had grown rapidly, and for the past six moons, Zear'ell had spent most of his time leading groups of young adults on raids in the Borderlands. The food they brought back allowed everyone to prosper even more. He was off on a raid now, but what a gift he would receive on returning!

Softly, she caressed the infant's face, running her finger over velvety black hair, satin cheeks paler than hers and darker than Zear'ell's. At her touch, great tilted black eyes opened. Tiny black flames seemed to flicker in their fathomless depths—truly a child of darkness.

The Great Lord of the Dark would be pleased. Sila remembered her visit to Shayol Ghul, soon after Zear'ell had brought her home…

_Lying in the Pit of Doom, above a great golden lake of flame, she wept with joy as waves of warm approval washed over her. A great voice—no, something much more than a voice—resonated in her mind. _

_CARE FOR MY CREATURES, ALWAYS, AND YOU SHALL NEVER KNOW FEAR OR WANT. I BIND YOU TO MY SERVICE AND NAME YOU DAUGHTER OF THE BLIGHT._

Her reverie was broken by a heavy hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw her friend Raka looming over her, a black silhouette against the starry sky. The pregnant, wolf-muzzled Trolloc pointed off into the shadows. **"The raiders are coming back"**

And there he was, gliding through the forest toward her. Trollocs marched two abreast behind him, starlight glinting dully on their armor and weapons. With a cry of** "Sila, you have borne!"** he flashed across the space between them and knelt with heart-stopping grace over the infant. The Trollocs remained where he had left them, at the edge of camp.

**"Yes, love"** she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. **"Your daughter was born at sunset two days ago, with help from Ghaeri and Raka"**

He inspected the tiny limbs, gazed into the fiery eyes. **"Probably the first half-Myrddraal ever in existence. Have you named her?"**

**"Yes, I named her Shaila. In the Old—in a human tongue, 'Daughter of Darkness.'"**

**"How fitting. We will bind her to the Great Lord when she is older, but I think she is already his creature."** He rose. **"I have a gift for you."**

His mouth tightened slightly—he was giving a mind-command, she knew—and two of the raiding Trollocs came forward, carrying between them a large sack of black leather. They set it down carefully before her. One of them sliced it open with his sword.

Out tumbled a doglike creature covered in fur as black as a deep cave. Though the size of a small hound, its body and face had a puppyish softness. A thick rope bound its muzzle shut; another was tied around its neck. It looked at Sila and whined. Captivated, she reached out to it.

Suddenly, her arm was seized in an iron grip. **"Don't touch her!"** Zearell grated, his normally breathy voice a harsh rasp.

She looked at him in surprise. **"Why not?"**

**"Can't you see she's a Darkhound? If she salivated on the inside of the bag, there might be some on her fur. She must be washed"**

**"What is a Dark…?"** A memory floated through her mind. _Rubbing soot into a dog's fur, giggling and spilling it all over herself as she tried to mimic her grandfather's deep voice "'No Shadowspawn are more deadly than Darkhounds'…heehee, you'll scare everyone good, Bayer." Later, screaming as her father's switch sliced lines of pain across her back. _

**"Yes, I've heard of Darkhounds"** she said to Zear'ell. **"They kill everything they touch, don't they?"**

**"Their blood and saliva does. I found this pup wandering alone near the Mountains of Dhoom; she must have somehow been separated from her pack. She's old enough to survive on her own, but young enough for you to tame, and I thought she could guard our fist"** He gazed into the Darkhound's silver eyes and she cowered, trembling. One Trolloc poured water over her while the other held her leash.

**"What a beautiful little killer"** Sila marveled. **"Her claws are like silver. I heard of a creature like her once, one whose touch was death. Mashadar, I think it was called. I know, I'll call her Mashadara!"**

Zear'ell shuddered, the first display of fear she had ever seen from him. **"In the legends of my kind, Mashadar is a powerful, evil thing. It destroyed hundreds of us, long ago. You wish great strength upon your pet, Sila. I hope it does not make her too strong"**

**"Oh, it's just a pretty name. She'll be no different for it."**

**"I pray to the Shadow that you are right. You may touch her now, but don't remove her muzzle until you are sure she will not bite you, and never let her lick any living thing here. If she is ever wounded, you must let her die rather than risk her blood touching you. Now, I have something else"**

He mind-spoke again, and two more Trollocs approached, pushing before them a tall, slim girl of about sixteen, with coppery hair and pale green eyes. Her coat, breeches and knee-high boots were all brownish-grey, and though bound and gagged she walked without fear. A cloth was wrapped around her head and a black veil hung from it, just above her face.

A jolt of terror shot through Sila. _Aiel! He's brought a wild Aiel here to kill us all, the fool! _All of the terrible stories she had heard—from humans and Trollocs both—about the humans who could not die and loved to kill jabbered inside her head. Sweating, she tried to stay calm. _They laugh at fear. _**"Zear'ell, what is this?"**

**"We caught her in a raven rookery north of Djevik Ke'shar. There were ravens perched all over her and she seemed to be _talking_ to them. It reminded me of you, so I thought you might take her for a servant. If not, I will take her to Shayol Ghul for a swordsoul: she is fierce and would produce a mighty blade"**

_An _Aiel_ servant? Is he mad? I don't need a servant, and even if I did, I wouldn't let an Aiel near my creatures. They're said to be as vicious as—as Trollocs. _It suddenly occurred to her that the stories humans told about Aiel were not so different from those they told about Trollocs. _And I have Trolloc friends. Maybe she will be like them. And Zear'ell says she talks with ravens. _She liked ravens—the glossy, raucous birds were amusing to watch, and occasionally one would eat from her hand—but they had never spoken to her _I'll try talking to her. _

**"Remove her gag"** she commanded the girl's captors. When they had done so, she asked, "What is your name?" The words sounded strange, after speaking the Trolloc tongue for months.

The girl's face held no expression. "I am called Gara, wetlander. I will give no clan or sept, for I have none, and though I wear _cadin'sor_, I am not _Far Dareis Mai_" For a moment, her eyes glinted as if with tears, then they were as hard as ever.

_What is_ Cadin'sor? _Or _Far Dareis Mai? "What are you doing here?"

"A raven led me out of the Three-Fold Land. He told me there were great masses of trees, and deep pools, and many of his kind. And there were" Fury flared in her eyes. "Then, your Shadowtwisted took me"

Suddenly, she began to writhe wildly, kicking at the Trollocs holding her, screaming "I will not be held like _gai'shain_, Shadowsouled wetlander! I was not taken fairly in battle, and I will not be devoured alive by your Twisted Ones or ravaged by your Nightrunner! I will die now, with honor, and I hope ravens peck you all to shreds!" She lunged at one of the Trollocs' arms, her throat barely missing his spiked wrist.

Darting quicker than thought, Zear'ell pushed Gara against the Trolloc's chest, his sword at her heart. "You will die when we say, human" he hissed, gazing at her until she stood motionless and silent.

Sila's arms tightened convulsively and Shaila wailed, she forced herself to relax them. _She's wilder than a Trolloc. But young, and alone. What should I do with her? I could feed her to a Trolloc, or let Zear'ell take her to be a swordsoul, whatever that is. _Despite her charges' ever-present hungershe couldn't bear to order the girl killed, and she didn't like the sound of "swordsoul". But even if she managed to convince Zear'ell to let Gara go free, the girl would soon die in the Blight_. There must be some place for her here. _Then she remembered hearing something, long ago, about ravens talking to Myrddraal.

**"Have ravens ever spoken to you?"** she asked Zear'ell.

He kept gazing at Gara. **"No, I'm not high enough. They sometimes serve as spies though, reporting human movements to spymasters who rank above me and carry the word to commanders"**

An idea came to Sila. **"Could Gara be a raven spymaster?"**

**"Perhaps. I'll take her to the nearest commander now, and ask. There are no humans among us, but if she is skilled enough, they might accept her"**

She studied Gara. A rare child who loved creatures of the Blight. Zear'ell was right; they were much alike. _I'll give her a future humans never allowed me._

"Listen, Gara" she said. "My Myrddraal will take you where you can speak with ravens all you want, and they will tell you of many, many things happening in the world. Please go with him"

Defiance was written across Gara's face, but hope flickered in her eyes.

"You lie. I am sure of it. But I have nothing to lose. I will go. If you have lied, I promise my raven friends will avenge me. And if you speak true, I thank you, Nightrunner's. lady"

Zear'ell sheathed his sword and turned away. **"We go now. You are serving the Great Lord well, Daughter of the Blight"**

_Daughter of the Blight indeed, _Sila thought wryly, watching him stride away with Gara and her captors. _I tried to pet a deadly Darkhound, and then let a tantrum-throwing child terrify me. I'm just a madwoman trying to live with those I love. She looked from _Mashadara, tethered asleep near the tent, to the Trolloc raiders emerging from the forest and distributing meat among the colony, to Shaila watching it all quietly. _Little one, you have far more claim to my title than I. You are born and bred to the Blight; it is in your blood. One day you will run proudly and fearlessly across your true home. _


	7. Night Encounter

Question: why would I write something like this??  
Answer: because it amuses me, because Shadowspawn rock and because there's no flaming reason not to.

I _am_ trying to lengthen my chapters. This one is rather short but (in my opinion) exceptionally tasty.

Night Encounter

The little Trolloc squirmed in Sila's lap as she tried to clean a sore on his pointed ear. When she was finally finished, he broke free and ran off, leaving her to lean against a tree, sighing wearily.

Life in the Blight had not been easy, of late. Zear'ell was off getting his sword replaced. Three-year-old Shaila got in trouble every other minute—pulling pony-sized Mashadara's tail, jumping into pools, trying to climb trees. Raka had just borne her fifth, a Mydrdraal, and lived in constant fear—Myrddraal babies were precious but frail, and she would be killed if he died. To top it off, Khirait had somehow given birth to a half-human baby that she promptly abandoned. Sila was thus left to raise the savage and voracious little girl she had named Thari—"survivor" in the Trolloc tongue, as few such babies lived past birth. The demands of this job, combined with caring for a burgeoning Trolloc colony, kept her constantly busy.

But now, for a brief time, all was peaceful. Thari and Shaila lay asleep in the nearby tent, curled against Mashadara's ebony flank. Raka slept near the embers of a cook-fire, her tiny white son shining like a star in her great arms. Younglings chased each other among the trees. A warm breeze stirred the night. A full moon glowed through leafless branches, bathing everything in brilliant light.

A footstep sounded behind Sila, and she looked around, and then stood up in alarm. There stood a tall figure in a cloak—or so it seemed until the cloak opened into vast black wings, revealing the body of the most exquisitely lovely man she had ever seen.

She could scarcely breathe. Moonlight silvered his elegant features and long, lean frame, sparkled in the depths of eyes like tranquil black lakes. Full crimson lips parted and the creature began to sing.

Instantly, Sila was drowning in bliss. Thoughts of Zear'ell, Shaila, her Trollocs and everything else were washed away by the deep, gentle melody flooding her mind. Through a silvery haze, she watched slender white arms reaching, embracing her, neat claws running through her hair. Sensuous lips curled back to reveal gleaming fangs and she was falling into velvet midnight of powerful wings…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Lenar flew over the Blight, cool night air flowed over him. Below, moonlight glinted on ram horns, an eagle's beak: Trollocs. Small-souled but brimming with potent life-force, they were his staple food.

He had left his mother's aerie only four moons previously, and his young appetite was great. Humans—odd, half-blind creatures endlessly scrabbling about on the ground—tended to make tasty prey. But the sight of the female human had given him a new hunger, one that something deep inside him recognized, and told him that he could satisfy again if she were kept alive.

So he had held her sweet, trembling soul like a bubble in his mouth, and then poured it back into her, knowing he would return for it later. Not being one to ponder things, he thought little of the event now as he folded his wings and plunged downward, toward the Trollocs. They would make a suitable meal.


	8. Shadowboy Rising

Shadowboy Rising

The Draghkar's wings beat steadily over Shai'sirri's head as he flew over the Mountains of Dhoom clasped in its arms. His keen gaze penetrated the dark valley below, and he could see a pack of Darkhounds walking in a line with their pups in the center, eyes shining in the shadows. A cold wind rushed over him and he was glad for his robe and cloak, which had seemed so strange in the Blight's steaming air only a short time before. A steel dagger dangled from his belt and he kept touching it to make sure it hadn't fallen.

The mountains fell away and they soared over a sea of dense, rolling mist, through which nothing could be seen. A dark spire pierced the mist, and a strange longing awakened in him, to go to it.  
Suddenly, they plummeted down through cold gray wetness. Fear seized Shai'sirri as moisture beaded his skin—he was afraid of water, though he would never admit it. When Shaila laughed at him for not swimming in rivers with her, he always had to make new excuses.

Then they were below the mist; it hung like a low, churning thundercloud over them. The Dragkhar, whose name Shai'sirri hadn't bothered to remember, set him carefully on a ledge of rough black stone. "Stay here," it said in a deep voice. Then, with a whoosh of wings, it vanished upward.

He was alone, in a great empty silence. Beyond the narrow ledge, all he could see was more mist, pierced with odd flashes of red and blue. Before him, a great tilted wall of black stone filled the horizon, rising into the mist. And leaning against the wall, clothed and armed like himself, was a hollow-cheeked Myrddraal boy.

Shai'sirri had never seen another youngling of his own kind. "Bhai'kaal" he called.

**"Who says?"** growled the boy. **"I never suffered from killing anyone, and now I'm going to be a mighty warrior. So don't threaten me, or you'll face the deadly wrath of Jith'kaan!"**

Shai'sirri stared in shock. Nobody disrespected him that way! Except Shaila, and he only let her because she was pretty. "Don't you dare—"

**"SILENCE!"** grated a voice above them. Both whirled around, to see a full-grown Myrddraal standing very close by, cloaked and armored, with a long black sword and a contemptuous expression. Except that his left middle finger was missing, he looked exactly like Zear'ell.

**"Only two of you, eh?"** he rasped. **"Trollocs must be getting lazy. Tell me your names"**

**"Nobody tells me what to do"** Jith'kaan yelled.

Instantly, a keen black blade hovered at their throats. **"Perhaps you could bully stupid Trolloc babies, bratlings, but here at Shayol Ghul, you frighten no one. I am Dii'zarl, and you will obey me or die. Tell me your names"**

They did, sullenly. Dii'zarl then pushed on the rock wall and a section of it gave way, revealing a small cave. He pointed to it. **"Go in".**

As soon as they entered, the rock slid back into place, trapping them inside. Brilliant light flooded the cave; it had no visible source but seemed rather to be emanating from the rocks all around. There were no shadows to vanish into, as Shai'sirri had recently learned to do. He shivered with rare fear.

Dii'zarl pointed at Jith'kaan.** "Take off your clothes or I'll slice them off"**

The boy's face darkened with anger, but he licked his lips nervously and obeyed. His naked body was very thin. Black scars formed wavy lines over his jutting ribs and twined around his bony limbs.

Dii'zarl looked him over thoroughly, feeling his limbs.** "Scrawny little weak-boned wretch. Probably had to fight for every mouthful since birth. Well, you look tough enough, and food will put muscle on you. Dress." He turned to Shai'sirri. "You, undress"**

Shai'sirri clenched his teeth and imagined himself sitting on his mother's lap with Shaila, eating roasted meat and watching the cook-fire turn to embers as the warm air hummed with Trollocs singing promises to their young, of endless killing and feasting. Wrapped in this peaceful vision, he was barely aware of unfastening his clothes and laying them on the rock, or of Dii'zarl's hands prodding him roughly.

**"You're uncommonly well-fleshed for a youngling"** The harsh voice tore through his imaginings. **"Big, with good strong bones. But softer than you ought to be, coming from the Blight. We'll see if you have the mettle to survive"**

After allowing Shai'sirri to re-dress, Dii'zarl stood him beside Jith'kaan and addressed the two of them imperiously.

**"You come to Thakan'dar as brats with Trolloc milk still on your lips—"**

_I do _not_ have milk on my lips!_ thought Shai'sirri, indignantly.

**"—but you will leave as warriors of the Great Lord of the Dark, inspiring terror in all. Here, you will learn to fight and command, to use spies, to kill without thought of mercy and battle until long after death. If you are skilled and obedient, you may one day have a legion of Trollocs at your command and a human female screaming in your arms. If not, you will stain these rocks blacker with your blood. Or spend your miserable life being nursemaid to a stinking rabble of Trollocs and never leave the filth you were born into. Now, we will go to your new master"**

They left the cave—Dii'zarl replaced the stone door—and walked along the ledge until they reached another opening in the mountainside, out of which drifted hot white steam. This, they entered, and walked down a tunnel filled with ruddy light, until suddenly they were standing above a vast lake of molten fire. Flames danced across its surface and steam was everywhere. Walls of stone rose high, then abruptly ended, and the sky above them was filled with racing clouds of silver, black and red.

Then a voice came out of the flame, obliterating everything. Memories of his mother, of the young Trollocs he had enjoyed cowing with his gaze, of playing with Shaila, all whirled away and vanished. He trembled with joy beyond all he had known. The voice said:

LITTLE ONE, CHOSEN ONE, YOU WILL RISE ABOVE THE BEASTS THAT SPAWNED YOU; THEY WILL BE YOUR GROVELING MINIONS. YOU WILL LEARN TO WIELD THE MIGHTIEST WEAPONS IN THE WORLD. WITH ME, YOUNG MYRDRAAL, YOU WILL BECOME GREAT.

Shai'sirri knelt in ecstasy. ** "I will serve you, Great Lord"**_  
_


	9. Nightrunner's Daughter

A short chapter that hints of things to come...

NIghtrunner's Daughter

Muck squished under Shaila's bare feet and splashed her skirt as she walked through the Blightwood. Trolloc younglings called from among the trees, inviting her to join their play,

**"Come up in this tree with us"**

**"Let's see who can bite the other first!"**

**"Quick, help me hide these _cafar_ eggs before the mother comes back!"**

The little girl called greetings to them all, but walked on. She was looking for her mother.

Finally she found Sila Darklover sitting on a boulder near their tent. Mashadara lay at her feet, and she was grooming the Darkhound with a piece of soft leather. Though she looked like Shaila, she was all human.

Shaila tugged her mother's long, black cloak. **"Mama, where is Shai'sirri?"**

**"He left for Shayol Ghul this morning. Didn't you see him getting ready?"**

Shaila thought about it. Yes, she had lain half-asleep watching Shai'sirri bathing in the faint dawn light. And then he had gotten dressed like her Da, which was strange since he never dressed before. But then Branjl and Saemirte had pounced on her and by the time she had wrestled free of them, fresh beef was roasting for breakfast and new clothes had come from the Borderlands and she had forgotten all about it.

**"Yes, I think I saw him. But--but—how could he leave? We were going to get married"**

**"Married? You're six years old!"**

Shaila stamped her foot. **"So? I love him! Bring him back!"**

Sila marveled at the black fire in her daughter's eyes; at times it seemed the Great Lord of the Dark gazed out of them. But she said calmly **"I can't do that, dear. He is sworn to serve the Great Lord, as we all are"**

Tears ran down Shaila's pale cheeks. Her Trolloc friends were always leaving. They would be babies, and then in a year they would turn into grown-ups and leave, while she only grew a little. But Shai'sirri wasn't like that. He was like her. And now he had left too. No more would she and Shai'sirri run among the twisted trees or ride the j_umara_ that tried in vain to buck them off. He was gone, gone, gone.

Mashadara nosed her in concern. Two ravens flew from a nearby tree and perched on her shoulder. Shaila held her, murmuring **"Hush, little Fetchling, little one. Shai'sirri is learning to be a great fighter like your father. When he comes back you can marry him and all the Blight will be yours"**

Shaila's friend Thari ran up followed by a covey of Trolloc younglings eagerly gripping their short knives. **"We found a nest of Sticks! Come on, let's go cut them up!"**

Sila smiled at the half-Trolloc girl that she loved like her own daughter. **"Go on love, go play with your friends. Da's gone to get more food, so we're staying here a while. But Lenar might come later, and I'll see if he can take you to the Thousand Lakes"**

Shaila cheered up. She loved flying through the air in the arms of Sila's Dragkhar friend and swimming in the cool water with her aquatic friends. She took Thari's hand and they ran off through the Blight.


	10. Dawn of a Shadow Sister

_A/N: This chapter is mostly dialogue, but it's _important_ dialogue which sets the stage for later events. _

Dawn of a Shadow Sister

Bian opened the door to the White Tower library and crept reluctantly inside. She _hated_ bringing messages to Seira Sedai. But a Tower novice did as she was told, or faced harsh punishment.

Seira was in her usual place—at a table in the back of the library, together with Mierelan Sedai, another Brown sister. Mierelan had several books in front of her and was leafing through one, while Seira peered intently at another book and took notes.

Bian tapped the table. "Excuse me, Seira Sedai? A pigeon has come with a message for you"

Seira looked up, pushing dark curls away from her face. "Hello, child. Listen to this: 'Although the great armies that wrought such devastation in the Trolloc Wars were composed entirely of males, it is the females that remain the terror of the Borderlands. Gaunt from rearing offspring, wild with hunger, these creatures attack in ravening groups and fear nothing; they will devour their victims alive heedless of blades or arrows in their flesh'". Her eyes, amber flecked with brilliant green, fastened on Bian. "Isn't that _interesting_?"

Bian gulped. Seira was a kind woman who never punished novices caught stealing from the kitchens or eyeing the Warders as they practiced sword-forms. But she had an insane fascination with things nobody else wanted to think about, and she seemed oblivious to the suffering caused by her musings on murderous beast-men, sinister, eyeless rapists and other things that were best forgotten. Many a novice had grown slim from attending her classes.

Now she was taking the message, studying its seal: a six-pointed star on blue wax. "Oh good, it's from Lord Lossel in Arafel. Perhaps his men have discovered a Trolloc breeding ground. I would love to see one of those"

"Why bother when you can go to Lugard or Ebou Dar?" Mierelan murmured, setting her book aside and opening another. "They're probably not very different"

Trying hard not to gag, Bian curtsied and left the library as fast as she could. Nobody with sense wanted to find Trollocs, and Mierelan's comparison was simply disgusting. The golden-haired sister could be almost as bad as her friend; some novices even whispered that Mierelan had an Ogier lover—a _truly _revolting concept. It was almost enough to make her wish she had never come to the Tower.

"Miere!"

The cry cut across Mierelan's ruminations on the economic importance of Tairen fisheries. Looking up, she saw Seira gazing at her with an ecstatic grin, green sparks blazing in her eyes.

"Remember that message I showed you ten years ago about Sila, the Saldaean girl who ran off with a Myrddraal?"

"Um…yes" That had been the day Eleara taught her how to fish by hand.

"Now, listen to what Lord Lossel wrote! 'Ten miles into the Blight, near the Shienaran border, my scouts have observed a strange creature. It had the features of a Saldaean woman, but wore the cloak and armor of a Myrddraal. Striding through the Blight, it did not seem lost or afraid, as a human would be. I fear that it may be a new kind of Shadowspawn, or else a very powerful Darkfriend. Do you have any knowledge of creatures like this?'" Seira smacked the letter down onto the table. "You see? She's real!"

Mierelan smiled, recognizing on her friend's face the thrill of a theory being proven. "You're right; it does seem unlikely to be anything else. Though I have no idea how a woman could survive this long in the Blight, much less in a Myrddraal's clutches"

"He loves her, of course! How else?"

Mierelan sighed. "Seira, be reasonable. How could a woman be loved by something that isn't even human?"

Seira grinned. "What about that Ogier you keep talking to while he mends the Tower wall?"

Mierelan's cheeks burned."Talan is my _friend_, and if you've been spreading those rumors about us—"

"No. No, I haven't."

"All right, then. But Ogier are different from Myrddraal, anyway. Myrddraal are tainted to the marrow by the Dark One. Their gaze is pure fear. Women go insane from their touch. How could something like that feel love, or be loved? It isn't logical—"

"Oh, _burn_ logic! Why didn't you become White, if you care about it so much?"

A librarian peered around a shelf at them. "This is no place for fighting, you two," she chided them gently.

Mierelan blushed again. "We're sorry, Eleara." Turning back to Seira, whose own face was red with anger, she tried to talk softly. "I'm sorry Seira, but I can't believe such a wild tale. So, since there's no way to prove it, we'll have to let it rest. Those Arafelin scouts must have seen some crazed wanderer who will soon be—"

"No."

"What?"

"No." Seira leaned over and seized Mierelan's shoulders. "I've waited ten years to learn more about this girl. I believe she's real, and you can't talk me out of that. Now I know where she is, and I'm going to find her." She straightened abruptly. "Miere, I am going to the Blight!"

Mierelan gasped. "You can't! It's too dangerous, and you'll find nothing!"

"I'll find Sila! And if I don't, I'll find Shadowspawn!"

"You don't know what you're saying. Reading about them is one thing, but you'll die trying to study them in life! You are Aes Sedai, with a responsibility to the entire world, and you can't go chasing dreams!"

"I don't care." Her voice was very quiet now. "Studying Shadowspawn is all I care about. You've been to many hostile places, studying dangerous creatures. You know how to survive it." She smiled. "And that's why you are coming with me."

Mierelan's heart began pounding. Her brain buzzed, sweat trickled down her back. To calm herself, she gazed down, concentrating on the blue flowers embroidered on the cuffs of her deep-brown linen dress. Swamp beauties, pretty plants that grew in all manner of wet places. Their tubers were a favored food of waterfowl, and a tea made from their downy leaves soothed pain and fear. Her wits gathered, she looked up into Seira's wild eyes.

"Listen. I've been to the Black Hills, the Mountains of Mist, and both of Andor's coasts. I've explored forests and swamps, lakes and rivers. I've faced wolves, leopards and bears. But the Blight is different. Andoran trees won't try to grab me; Andoran lakes aren't home to monsters. Wolves and bears have no interest in raping me; they don't go looking for humans to kill. Neither of us would survive there, and I'm not going.

Seira didn't look even slightly abashed. In fact, she wagged a finger teasingly! "You're trying to talk yourself out of this. Well, it won't work. You've told me that you want to see every land in the world, and the Blight is certainly a land! I'll find us a guide if you want, but I'm going."

Mierelan sighed. _She's the one who should have been White. Her idea of logic, plus bull-headed stubbornness, makes her an excellent candidate. And she's right. The Blight frightens me to my bones, but I do want to see it. Besides, if I don't go, she's sure to get herself killed there, and I'll never forgive myself. I do know a thing or two about surviving in the wilds; maybe I can save her without killing myself. _"I'll think about it."

In a moment, her hands were being painfully squeezed by Seira's sweaty ones, as her friend whispered fiercely, "Thank you. Oh, thank you."

Seira lay on her bed, trying to keep from capering madly. It wouldn't do for anyone to find an Aes Sedai acting like a fool. But it was hard to contain her excitement. She was going to the Blight!

Her room was lined with objects of her passion. Maps of the Blight covered the walls, sent to her from all four Borderlands. A ram-horned Trolloc skull, borrowed from another sister for study, sat on her desk, flanked by a pair of carved ebony dogs with silver eyes.

She had corresponded with Borderland rulers for five years, taking Narika's place after the Green sister was killed by lightning. Their letters were interesting, but they had never told her what she wanted to know—if Sila was real. At last, her dream was going to come true.

"Please, Aginor," she whispered to the ceiling. "If I can meet the blessed guardian of your creatures, I will serve you forever. Please, let me know my sister in shadow."

_A/N: I know, that ended rather abruptly. But I was tired of dragging it out. Here we go, into the Blight!_


	11. United

I'm aware that, for some arbitrary reason, RJ has declared Myrddraal sterile. May the man rest in peace, but I refuse to comply with such a pointless and limiting rule. Other Shadowspawn-related discrepancies are inadvertant (I have not read the Big White Book) but will not be changed.

I have, however, been reminded that Malkier was conquered about fifty years before TEoTW, so Shaila could not have gone there a century before it. Because the Thousand Lakes will be important later, this story now begins forty years before TEoTW; Chapter 1 has been changed accordingly.

United

Mierelan's dress clung damply to her, and every breath drew steamy, pungent air. Wiping sweat from her brow, she glanced at Seira riding beside her. "Did _you_ know it would be this hot in the Blight?"

"Oh, it will get hotter," Seira breathed. "_Much _hotter." Her face was flushed and her green-gold eyes seemed to glow in the dimness. "You're Aes Sedai, silly. Can't you ignore heat?"

Mierelan tried to concentrate, to keep the heat from touching her. But it was hard to stay focused amid the squelching footsteps of their horses, the insufferable humidity, and the malevolent, shadowy forms of twisted trees all around. Every rustle and crack made her jump, fearful—and just a little hopeful—that something would jump out at them.

They had ridden to Lord Lossel's keep in northernmost Arafel, where he had received them kindly—and sent them off into the Blight the next morning, with only a young scout named Moriel for guidance. All day, they had trotted through the rising heat; following what Moriel claimed was Sila's trail. Now the light was fading, and she feared what darkness could bring.

"We should stay here for the night." The cheery voice broke her concentration as her horse suddenly stopped, and she turned to see Moriel holding the grey gelding's bridle.

"Why? It's still light." Seira reined in her sleek black mare beside them.

"See how the land rises slightly around us?" Dark braids swung as he turned about, indicating their surroundings. "We're in a small hollow, and approaching creatures might not notice us if they look straight ahead. Also, the trees are too dense for Dragkhar or other fliers to see us."

"Oh. I'll start gathering firewood."

"No, you won't," said Mierelan and Moriel together.

"Trollocs would smell the smoke from miles away," Moriel explained. "And flames would guide them right to us—then serve to cook us. Besides, some of these trees are poisonous; we'd die from breathing their smoke."

"I could weave a ward," offered Mierelan.

He shook his head with a gentle grin, teeth gleaming white in the gloom. "Shadowspawn can sense the Power. A ward would be a brilliant beacon to them. Listen, I'll tie up your horses and you can start setting up tents."

"All right. But first, I'd like to, um, examine these trees." She dismounted and hurried off, followed by a low call of "Don't touch the red-barked ones!"

_Bloody self-important man, _she thought, cheeks hotter than ever. _He probably thinks we're a pair of sheltered ninnies with no sense of the danger we're in. Well, Seira certainly is! I've lived in the wilderness, before, though—but how was I supposed to know Shadowspawn can sense wards? Other animals can't! Blood and ashes, I don't understand this place at all!_

Taking shears and a sample box, she carefully snipped off a bundle of leaves from a gnarled, black-barked tree. It had been fascinating to watch the trees' disease progress along their path, from speckling to mottling to deep decay. Perhaps by studying it, she could find a way to fight it. Of course, it wouldn't do to tell Seira that.

She reached for a higher branch—and froze. A face stared into hers from the foliage. A small, pale human face.

Whirling around, she hissed, "Seira! Moriel! Come quick!"

Both hurried over. "What?"

"Look at—" She pointed into the tree…at leaves. The face was gone.

"I don't see anything," said Moriel.

"Forget it. My mind is playing tricks, I guess."

"Yes, that can happen here. But please try to control it. My lord will punish me if I let an Aes Sedai go mad."

Suddenly, there was a great rustle overhead, as if something very large had flown over the treetops and grazed them in passing. A burst of wind sent all three staggering and knocked a tent-peg hammer out of Seira's hand.

"Sweet Aginor, what was that?!" she cried, curls blown wildly about.

Mierelan leaned on a tree, willing her heart to slow. "Probably something '_sweet Aginor'_ created. Are you scared yet, Seira? Do you see the danger you've put us in?"

"Calm down, Miere. Why would I be scared? You really are tense, if you've started reading surprise as fear." Picking up the hammer, she ambled back to their tents.

"Don't worry about _her _going mad," Mierelan murmured to Moriel. "She already is."

A short time later they sat in a circle, silently eating bread and cheese. Seira wore a dreamy expression, but Moriel's eyes were alert and Mierelan was almost too nervous to swallow. The Blight grew darker every minute and she felt utterly unprotected.

Something bright flickered in the corner of her eye. A moment later, a most unexpected creature emerged from the woods.

It appeared to be a human girl, about twelve years old. Her Kandori-style clothes—loose yellow trousers and a short, dark-green coat—were worn and stained, her feet bare, but she looked quite healthy. Glossy black braids lay coiled on either side of a sweet, pale face. The face in the trees!

"Bhai'kaal," she said.

"Huh?" said Seira

The girl let loose an unintelligible babble of bizarre sounds that her mouth should not have been able to form. They all stared for a moment, then Moriel's eyes narrowed. "That's the Trolloc tongue!"

A thrill of fear spiked up Mierelan's spine. _A human, speaking Trolloc! A Darkfriend spy of some kind? Or could it be…no. We heard of Sila before this child was even…even born. Oh no. No, it can't be. _

She had looked into the girl's eyes, and no amount of denial could banish the sight. Black flames flickered and glowed within them—and they were tilted. It was not a trick of the light. Something ancient and demonic lived within that pretty face, and looked through distinctly Saldaean eyes. _No. _

"Who are you, child, and what are you doing here?" Seira's tone was calm and friendly, seemingly unconcerned, but her eyes nearly lit the glade.

The girl paused, frowning, and then brightened. "Oh, of course you speak human. I live here."

"And what's your name?"

"Shaila, daughter of Zear'ell and Sila."

"D-do you mean to say that your, your mother is Sila Darklover?"

"Not Darklover, just Sila." She knelt, looking into their saddlebags. "This food smells interesting; can I have some? I'm as hungry as a Trolloc with twins." She shuddered. "Well, not _that _hungry."

Mierelan had an urge to laugh. _The fire-eyed daughter of a legend comes to our campsite and asks for food. And they say Brown sisters lead boring lives_.

Since Seira looked too dazed to speak, she tried. "Ah, Shaila, could you bring your mother to uh, meet us?"

Shaila bit her lip. "Umm, I shouldn't really."

"Why not?"

"She doesn't want me talking to humans; she says they'll hurt me. But almost nothing does and you looked friendly, so…but I don't want her to know."

"Please," Seira breathed. "Tell her we won't hurt her, or capture her. We just want to meet her. Please."

"Oh, all right. I never got to be with humans before, so I'll bring her here. But she'll have our whole Trolloc colony with her because we're migrating, so if you two try anything you'll be sorry!" She ran from the clearing.

Mierelan turned to Seira. "What have we done? A horde of Trollocs will be heading our way!"

"For Aginor's sake, Miere, that's why we came here. Did you think we'd be lucky enough to catch her wandering alone again? Oh, I can't believe she's actually coming to meet us!" Seira got up and paced around the clearing, nearly skipping with excitement. "If you don't want to be there, go home with—hey, where's Moriel? He's gone! Moriel!"

"I'm here." Moriel emerged from the forest. "I slipped out of sight; couldn't have her thinking I'd gone to alert an assassin that Sila's coming. Luckily she didn't seem to remember I was there. I'll tell my lord you've succeeded."

"What are you talking about?" asked Seira.

"I'm going home, of course. You've found your Sila, so my mission is done, and I wouldn't be much help against a horde of Trollocs. You're Aes Sedai, you'll be fine. May good fortune follow you." He turned and ran.

"Come back, you—" Mierelan began to shout.

Seira tugged her arm. "Don't! He's gone, you'll just attract attention!"

"That treacherous little weasel! Now we'll never escape!" Mierelan shook with fear. "Trollocs are coming, and we're stranded!"

"For the last time, calm down. We'll be fine." Seira paced the clearing, practically skipping with excitement.

Fighting to restrain her panic, Mierelan huddled against a tree, clutching at a pendant around her neck. The coiled pink shell had come from Tremalking, or so claimed the Sea Folk merchant who had sold it to her in Tear. Oh, to be on that distant island far from anywhere with a memory of Shadowspawn! Or safe in the White Tower gardens, sitting with Talan as they read aloud to each other in turns. Sweet, strong, learned Talan; the young Ogier would never dream of harming anyone. _Why did I leave?_

What calm she had mustered was shattered as something small hurtled from the forest. Hastily seizing the One Power, she hurled a weave of Air at the thing, pinning it to the ground.

Writhing and snarling in the muck was a sturdy little girl—a girl with a blunt muzzle, clawed paws instead of feet, and short fur covering her otherwise-naked body. Both women stared.

"Is that a Trolloc child?" whispered Mierelan.

"Of course it is!" murmured Seira. "I never thought to see one…"

Mierelan was captivated. Those wild, long-lashed brown eyes between pointed ears and sharp little teeth, that smooth melding of paw with human leg—truly a fascinating creation. The thrill of examining a new specimen had finally caught up to her. No wonder Seira wanted to study the Blight!

Human voices sounded just beyond the clearing, whispers at first, then angry shouts in the guttural Trolloc tongue; Shaila's voice intermingling with an older female one. A moment later, a woman strode out from the trees.

She was tall and fairly young, with unmistakably Saldaean features. She wore a black skirt, a breastplate of black armor in overlapping plates, and a long black cloak fastened with a pin shaped like a bright red trident. She would have matched Lord Lossel's description exactly but for one thing: her face was twisted with frightened fury.

"Who are you," she hissed, "and what do you want with me? I don't care if my father's dead or if all of Saldaea is up in flames! This is my home and I'm never going back! I don't care how you found me, go away!"

"We mean you no harm," said Mierelan hastily. "I am Mierelan Lutrassi and this is Seira Kestryn. We are Aes Sedai of the Brown—"

Sila's eyes widened further; her face suddenly shone with sweat. "Aes Sedai," she whispered. "Shadowkillers." Her voice rose hoarsely. "Go on, kill me, and bring the wrath of a Trolloc fist upon you! See if your might prevails against two hundred! I'll die knowing the world was rid of two of you!"

Mierelan was confounded. She had faced fear of Aes Sedai throughout her journeys, in peasant villages, but never such terror and loathing. The poor child thought they had come to kill her, and in truth many sisters—Narika came to mind—would have wanted to. _She's going to set her Trollocs on us if we don't convince her immediately not to! But how do I do that?_

Seira stepped forward. All of her girlish excitement had vanished; she radiated serenity and confidence as if she'd worn a shawl for centuries. "Please listen," she said. "My companion and I have not come to kill you, or take you back to Saldaea. We have come to learn from you. Long ago, I made it my goal to learn all I could of the Blight and its creatures. I have worked at gathering all of the knowledge that may be found in the human lands, but you know more than anyone else in this world. We will not harm you, or any creature here, except in absolute self-defense. This I swear, by the _Ojni Daeg_ and the First Birth, by the Hand of Aginor."

_By the what? _

Slowly, fear melted from Sila's face. She looked at Seira long and hard, black eyes meeting amber-green, and then pointed to the Trolloc child in the mud. "Release her."

Mierelan released the weave. The little creature sprang up, growling, but ran from the clearing at a guttural command. Sila nodded to herself.

"You're lucky my Myrddraal lover just left on a raid. For the next fortnight, you may travel with us. I'm intrigued that you know so much about our lore. But any move to harm, and you will die."

Seira reached out hesitantly to clasp Sila's arm. "I promise you won't regret this. I've waited ten years." She turned. "Come on, Miere! We're going to travel with Sila Darklover!"

_And Trollocs! I can't believe this is actually happening! But…how can I resist now? _

"Your friend seems reluctant," observed Sila.

"I'm not, really!" said Mierelan hastily, not wanting to arouse any suspicion of false interest. "I just can hardly believe that you've lived with a Myrddraal for so long. They're said to drive women insane."

Sila grinned, her face becoming lovely. "Oh, I'm quite insane."

Seira abandoned serenity and clapped her hands like a child in sheer joy.

_What have I gotten myself into? _


	12. To Raven Lake

**I've been told that this story is impossibly far-Fetched. Well, that's sort of the point. I'm not trying to be realistic or credible, but to suggest my own vision of the Blight's inner life--which RJ left largely untold--while playing with a villain-nonvillain pairing that would shock and bewilder most canon characters. That's what my fanfics do. If Sila's story were less than unthinkable to "real" Randlanders, I probably wouldn't write it. **

**I do appreciate thoughtful critiques, though...just want to make sure my motives are clear.**

To Raven Lake

Seira couldn't stop grinning. Tingles of anticipation cascaded down her spine. _I'm going to live with Sila! I'm going to see lots of creatures! I'm—_

"—so hold them still, all right?"

Mierelan nudged her. "Come on."

"What?"

"Haven't you been listening? Sila said to restrain our horses, so she can do something to keep them from going mad at the smell of Shadowspawn."

They hurried to the tethered animals, gripping each by its bridle. As Sila approached, the horses whinnied and pranced fearfully, trying to jerk free. She drew a pouch from beneath her cloak, took a pinch of something from it, and dabbed it into the horses' nostrils. They calmed immediately.

"There," she said. "The herbs will mask our scent for many hours, though I'll have to reapply them eventually. Shaila has gone back and told the Trollocs not to attack you when you come. Take down your tents and we'll go."

Minutes later, they had packed and untied their horses. Sila vanished like a Myrddraal into the forest shadows, and they followed.

Moving among the trees, trying to keep sight of Sila's dark form in the dimming light, Seira listened to her own thundering heart. A thrill of fear trickled into her excitement, but she ignored it; she had come too far for second thoughts. She emerged from the forest at the base of an open hill that sloped up eastward, red-gold in the setting sun. Before her lay a spectacular sight.

Trollocs! Great animal-headed women, many with babies peeking from their arms, turned to look at her. Others, slightly smaller, grasped the weapons at their sides, then lowered their hands and sneered. Downy children ran squealing about. It was nearly too glorious to be real.

Mierelan screamed. An enormous black dog came hurtling toward them, snarling. Sila hurled herself at it, clinging at a rope around its neck while trying to dig her heels into the ground. Two Trollocs came to her aid, seizing the beast by nape and hindquarters to hold it immobile.

"Sorry about that," Sila panted, letting go. "I forgot that Mashadara would attack strangers. Come pet her."

"Is that a _Darkhound_?" asked Seira, hardly daring to believe it. Such creatures were so rare and elusive that few believed in them, even in the Borderlands.

"Yes, and she's defensive of her adopted pack. But she'll get used to you soon. Come. She's harmless now, if you avoid her head."

Hauling a trembling Mierelan by the arm, Seira slowly approached the Darkhound. She felt nervous as well—to touch a legend! She laid a reverent hand on its flank. Warm and firm, yes, this was a true living creature. Mierelan copied her, eyes wide.

Sila grinned. "Anyway, welcome to my home."

Shaila ran up and tugged Seira's sleeve, crying. "Come meet my family!"

The Sisters followed her as she pranced among the Trollocs, pointing and naming. "Dvlon, Kelrra, Mama Saemirte, Niltti, Ghek, Mama Raka—ai! Thari!"

An odd-looking young woman detached from the crowd and approached them. She was taller than either Sister but shorter than the other Trollocs, with sparser fur on her well-muscled limbs. Lank dark hair fell to below the hem of a short garment that appeared to be made of hide. She had no animal muzzle; her jaws were long but human.

"This is my sister Thari," said Shaila. "She's half human and half Trolloc."

"Your sister?!" Mierelan sounded appalled, and Seira felt mildly sick. Could Sila have—?

"Well, not really. Her mama died when she was born, so my mama raised her. Nobody knows how she happened and mama says not to ask."

Thari ran a hungry gaze over the Aes Sedai, and then said something in the Trolloc language, pointed teeth showing in a grin. Shaila slapped her playfully, and she ran off.

"She's more Trolloc than human in her mind, mama says. I wouldn't know. But other Trollocs won't want her for a mate so she has to stay here even though she's grown up."

"Is that a _Myrddraal_?" asked Mierelan, gawking at a small, slender, palely-hairless boy among the furry forms. Hearing her, the child looked around to reveal an eyeless human-like face. Seira trembled slightly despite herself.

"Yes, that's Mhir'ot, son of Kaean. He's the first Myrddraal born to this colony since Shai'sirri." Shaila looked suddenly pensive.

"Since who?"

"Shai'sirri, son of Raka. He grew up when I was small, and we were friends." She looked to the side as if feeling guilty. "More than friends, really. We _thought_ we were, uh, going to be mates. But he went to Shayol Ghul four years ago, and I never saw him again."

Seira grinned inwardly. _Ah, young love among Shadowspawn_.

"This forest, which we call the Blightwood, runs for many hundreds of miles along the border. We move through it east to west and back again, foraging in the Borderlands. Now we're going east, toward the Thousand Lakes. To the south is western Arafel, though I guess you knew that. To the north lies the great Trolloc breeding ground of Zaraanth, and after that the Mountains of Dhoom and Shayol Ghul."

"A Trolloc breeding ground," Seira murmured. "I always wanted to see one of those."

Sila's face was grave. "You must never go there. Rutting Trollocs are death to any creature that approaches save each other, and even_ they_ often don't survive a visit."

"Thish stuff ish _wongerful_l!" Shaila mumbled around a wedge of cheese.

The four of them were sitting around a small fire. A cauldron sat on the ashes of a larger fire; the Trollocs had cooked and eaten a sort of root stew from it, and now continued about their business despite the darkness. Sila was also eating the stuff, from a bowl that looked suspiciously like the top of a Trolloc skull. The Aes Sedai kept to the contents of their food-packs, which were rapidly and ecstatically being emptied by Shaila.

"So how does the breeding system work?" asked Seira.

"Well, when a female matures at about two years of age, she leaves her home colony and goes to—"

"How do you _make_ this?" demanded Shaila, thrusting the cheese in Mierelan's face.

"Um, you milk a cow, or a goat, and uh, let the milk ferment…"

"What's ferment? And how do you get milk from a wild animal?"

"What do you normally eat, Shaila?" asked Seira, to save Mierelan from struggling for answers.

"Roots like mama's eating, leaves, little animals like Sticks and _cafar_, fruit from trees near the border in summer. Sometimes meat that Da and his raiders bring from the Borderlands."

"What kind of meat?"

"Oh, cow, pig, sheep, horse, human—"

"You eat _people_?" Mierelan squealed.

"Sometimes. You don't taste very good."

"B-but how can you _eat _other humans?"

The child shrugged. "Trollocs eat Trolloc."

"There's logic for you," Seira murmured to Mierelan.

"And I'm only half human. Mama, is Lenar visiting soon?"

"Probably not, dear," said Sila. "He was living by the Dead Sea last time we saw him, remember? That's too far away."

"Who's Lenar?" asked Seira.

"He's a Dragkhar," said Shaila. "He sometimes comes when Da's away and gives me rides."

"He's a friend of ours," added Sila. But her gaze slid guiltily away, just as her daughter's had when lying.

_Friend indeed_, thought Seira smugly. _From what I've heard of Dragkhar, they're good for more than friendship. The lucky woman!_

Mierelan squealed again. A pig-faced Trolloc child was pulling her hair, trying to extricate a lacquered green pin. Shaila grabbed a fallen branch and jabbed the creature in the belly, sending it sprawling. It crawled off, growling.

"You do that to your own playmate?" Shaila asked.

"Why not? He was taking her pretty thing."

"Because it's not…well…"_ How do I explain right and wrong to someone with completely different values? This is why I chose not to be Blue. _

Having finished eating, Shaila joined her Trolloc friends in game of chase and tackle. Her guttural shrieks mingled with theirs, and her night vision was as keen.

"Isn't she afraid of getting stomach ache, running around after eating so much?" Seira asked Sila.

"She fears nothing," said Sila. "Few creatures of the Blight ever harm her; they are all her playmates. I taught her how to speak with humans in case they ever capture her, but I think that even they would be charmed. She never gets sick, and she knows how to take advantage of everything in the land."

"That's as it should be, for the daughter of Sila Darklover."

"Darklover? Is that what humans call me?" She rubbed her face ruefully. "Well, it's more fitting than my title here, Daughter of the Blight."

"Daughter of the Blight," Seira breathed. "What a wonderful name!"

"Perhaps, but it's untrue. I wasn't born of the Blight, and it really isn't my rightful home. I flung myself into its embrace as a passion-blinded girl, and was just lucky that my recklessness didn't kill me then and there. Zear'ell would likely have killed me, I realize that now, but my healing skills proved immediately useful, and…"

"And he loved you. But what about the Trollocs?"

"I befriended them one by one at first. Later generations grew up with me, and knew me for a leader like Zear'ell. "

"Generations? You haven't been here that long."

"Trollocs grow fast. Only Raka—"she pointed to a huge female with a grizzled wolf-muzzle—"was alive when I arrived. The rest have known me all their lives, as a midwife, healer and second mother. Still, I'm not a Trolloc and I don't really understand them. I'm just a crazy lover of darkness, earning my place here as best I can."

A very small Trolloc curled catlike in Seira's lap. She rubbed its silky muzzle gently. "You've done better than most people would dream of."

"But Shaila won't need to try. She's a Blight-child to the bone."

"You know, I'm impressed that you bore her at all. According to everything I've read, Myrddraal are supposed to be sterile."

Sila grinned. "Obviously, those experts didn't do the right experiments."

Both women laughed.

"The lakes, Mama! I see the lakes!"

"Yes dear, so do I. Don't stand in our path, now."

"Lakes, lakes, lakes!" Shaila bounded off.

Seira guided her horse to Mashadara's side. "Someone likes the Thousand Lakes of former Malkier, I see."

"We all do," said Sila. "They're a great asset to the Blight's creatures."

"I'm sure the Malkieri would be thrilled to know that," Mierelan muttered.

They had traveled together for ten days, the Trollocs marching more or less in a column while Sila and the Aes Sedai rode abreast at the front. Mierelan wasn't happy about turning her back on two hundred Trollocs, but she distracted herself by watching the Shadow-twisted landscape go by. It was fun to try identifying plants, looking beyond the disease-spots and crookedness for marks of what they had once been. Strange creatures flickered at the edges of sight, offering tantalizing glimpses without coming too close.

Seira was also enjoying herself. In Sila he had found a kindred spirit and a hero, one who loved the Blight and had truly given her life to experiencing it. In _every_ way. The things the woman had told her…she giggled.

"What's so funny?" asked Mierelan, drawing near.

"You don't want to know."

"No, I probably don't. Listen, our fortnight here is nearly up. Sila says her Fade will be meeting us at the lakes in a few days. We've got to leave soon, so we don't encounter him on the way out."

"Hmph. I want to see a full-grown Myrddraal."

"Well, I don't. He wouldn't know we've been her guests, and would probably kill us on sight. I'm glad we've made it alive this far, and I'm not pushing our luck. I suggest leaving tomorrow."

"Let's at least not discuss this tonight."

Lakes began to appear, gleaming blue amid the trees. The Trolloc horde scattered, making in groups for various lakes. Sila called her daughter over.

"Do you remember the rules?"

Shaila sighed. "Stay out of Ligu, Rocknerry and Aelara, don't pull the kimmok's tentacles, and keep away from brajagi nests. I _know_, mama."

"What?" asked Mierelan and Seira together.

"Lakes and creatures," Sila said as Shaila vanished again. "Ligu and Rocknerry lakes are poisoned, and Aelara is home to a ravenous creature that even Shaila can't charm. The kimmok tolerates her if she leaves its sensitive tentacles alone, and brajagis are friendly but very defensive of their eggs."

"Fascinating."

The humans set up camp by a crescent-shaped lake, on the round peninsula between its points. Seira sat taking notes. Sila took dried meat from a saddlebag—she had insisted it was goat, but Mierelan was in queasy doubt—and the sisters choked it down; it tasted foul, but their food packs were empty. Soon, a few Trollocs joined them, children splashing in the shallows. So did Shaila, sopping-wet and grinning blissfully. "Mama, I saw the biggest—"

Screeching in terror, a bird-headed Trolloc girl ran out of the water and flung herself at Shaila. A huge green eel pursued her, slithering with small fins that looked almost like legs.

"Oh, you." Shaila seized the fish by its gills and flung it at a nearby group of children, who tore it apart with delighted squeals.

"Yakha is stupid," she told the Sisters, stroking the girl's brown and white feather crest. "She does not know a good thing when it chases her."

"The lakes are fine training grounds for young Trollocs learning to hunt," said Sila. "They are full of small, weak animals, but some younglings don't recognize prey. I fear Yakha's fate when her mother stops bringing her food."

"If someone catches another fish like that, may I have its skin?" Mierelan asked. "Or would you teach me how to catch one?"

"The fish of Lisski Lake are easily caught," said Sila. "But you won't keep anything in one piece near this hungry lot. Why not wander around and find a lake with no Trollocs near, where you can do your sampling?"

_Because most of them contain vicious creatures? _"Er—"

"Tell me about it before going in, and I'll tell you if you shouldn't."

"All right." She strode southward, lakes on all sides. _If this place weren't so dangerous, it would be paradise. A thousand lakes full of unique life, and no human property to worry about trespassing on! Hmm, that one is shaped like a—_

Cresting a hill, she stopped and stared. A lake lay below: small, oval…and black. Jet black, despite the blue sky above it. Smooth as glass, it seemed to shine faintly from within rather than reflecting the sun.

Mierelan hurried back to the camp, where Sila was washing clothes in a Trolloc cookpot. Grabbing the woman's arm, she whispered, "What is that black lake to the south?"

"I named it Raven Lake, for its color. The Trollocs call it Klkarchh"—she made a choking sound—"but Shaila and I find 'Raven' easier to say."

"What lives in it?"

"I don't know. Nothing has ever approached Shaila as she swam in it. She claims to see something flickering far down, a faint glint, but cannot hold her breath long enough to penetrate the depths."

Seira looked up. "You could do it, Miere."

"What?"

"Didn't you tell me you knew a weave for breathing underwater?"

"I—yes, I do. What are you saying?"

"You could explore the black lake to its floor and see what Shaila couldn't."

"Are you mad? It's an unknown part of the_ Blight_!"

"Nothing attacked Shaila in it. Come Miere, you know you want to."

_She's right again. I can't resist a mystery, and this lake intrigues me. But…_although Eleara had taught her such a weave, she had only ever used it in mountain lakes and clear ocean shallows where nothing evil lurked. _If something attacks or hurts me, help is a long, long, way away. Except Sila and Shaila, and they've kept us safe so far. I'll bet no Sister has ever explored a Blight lake before. Light, I want to do this! But—but—_

"All right, I'll do it!"

"Good for you, Miere. I wish I could."

"But if I die, I hope to get reborn as a wasp and sting you somewhere painful."

Shortly afterward, she stood in her shift at the lake's edge, trying not to think about being half-naked in the Blight. Sila, Shaila and Seira stood beside her. "If I'm attacked, I'll send up a fountain—"

"And we'll drag you out of the water," said Seira.

"It gets deep right away," said Shaila. "You can jump in from here."

"All right, I'm going." Closing her eyes, she opened her mind to the One Power. Saidar flooded her with life and wild strength; sweet fire poured through every vein. Fighting for self-control amid the glory, she wove solid strands of Air into a tight net across her face, tinged with a touch of fire. Water that passed through the net would turn to air, allowing her to breathe and see in the depths.

Fear banished in Power-wrought euphoria, she dove into the lake.


	13. Lifesmith's Legacy

A/N: Real life and chronic arm pain have mostly kept me from writing for the past two years. But here's the conclusion to that cliffhanger.

I've remembered too late that most Shadowspawn hate being in water, so Shaila and the Trollocs shouldn't have gone in the lakes. Oh well. I've finally read the Big White Book, but it hasn't clarified things much – if "Myrddraal are not sterile but cannot interbreed with humans or Trollocs," they're functionally sterile (unless female Myrddraal are hiding somewhere in the Blight). And how are female Trollocs "cloistered"? So I persevere with my own imaginings. To the reviewer who informed me that "Trollocs have the emotional sensitivity of a lump of moldy cheese": I hope never to meet a lump of cheese in a bloodthirsty rage. :-P

Lifesmith's Legacy

Blackness enveloped Mierelan the moment she entered the water. Barely able to tell up from down, she tilted her head forward and squinted at her feet, silhouetted against faint gray light. Tilting it back, she glimpsed a pale point of light, tiny as a spark. She struck out toward it.

By the time she had to pinch her nose and swallow to relieve the depth-pressure on her ears, the light had grown to the size of a melon seed, and there was no hint of the surface. She produced a ball of light - Fire within Air - but it illuminated only clear water crossed occasionally by tiny wriggling creatures. She extinguished it, and had to hover for minutes before her eyes readjusted to the dark and the deep light reappeared.

Deeper and deeper she swam, stopping twice more to clear her ears. The water grew colder, but remained unnaturally warm. When the light was a pale green disk the size of a fist, her outstretched hand brushed something hard.

Halting, she produced the fireball. It illuminated the disk of light inset in a flat black rectangle about two feet wide, surrounded by white sand which swirled gently in the currents of her movement. She tried to grasp the object's sides, her fingers slipping ineffectively on its slick surface. Finally, she found a groove on either side, dug her fingers in, and tugged. It rose a little, then sank when she let go. She pulled again, slowly and steadily, easing it up from the lakebed.

Something seized her waist.

Panic dissolved her weaves. All light vanished. Fetid water poured into her nose and mouth. In rising terror, she scrabbled at the thing holding her, feeling fingers, claws, webs, scales. Nothing loosened its iron grip. She kicked behind her and struck something solid; then, her flailing feet met only water. Fighting for concentration as her head began to pound with lack of air, she touched the One Power and sent a column of Water shooting upward. _No one can save me,_ she thought dizzily. _They won't see it. They can't reach down here in time anyway_. _I'm dying alone in the Blight…dying…dy-_

Water rushed past her from above. Her ears popped; she was rising, but the creature kept its hold on her. Thin horizontal ridges, like a Myrddraal's armor, pressed into her back. _Can't...fight…_

Blinding light blazed around her. Something enveloped her body, jerking her out of the creature's grip – and into thin air. Cold wind rushed past her in a blur of color –

Hands grabbed her. For a split second, she panicked – and then was clasped to a downy bosom, as a muzzled head looked down on her with concern. She lay there, gasping in the pungent air, feeling her heart pound. _Never thought I'd be glad to be held by a Trolloc._

"Miere!"

The Trolloc set her gently on her feet; she fell to her knees in the muck. Sila and Seira appeared, hauling her up by the shoulders. "Are you all right?" Sila demanded. "Do your ears or nose hurt? Is there water in your lungs?"

"I…what was…" Mierelan looked at the lake in time to see a dark, empty column of water collapse into its center.

Seira Delved within her. "There's no damage at all, thank the Light. I'm sorry I had to yank you so high in the air. I was _going _to breakyour fall with a cushion of Air." She glanced reproachfully at the nearby Trolloc.

"Lyrrcha didn't know that," said Sila. "And there's no harm done."

Mierelan blinked at Seira, trying to will away her dizziness. "You saw my fountain?"

"Fifty feet down, and you still sent up quite a waterspout. You do have a way with Water, Miere. But someday you must try to teach me that breathing-weave. It will put so many wondrous things in my reach!"

"Wondrous things...what _was_ that thing which attacked me?"

"I don't know." Sila gazed out at the lake. "I've never seen anything like it."

"And I never dreamed I would." Seira's eyes gleamed; she brushed a finger along the side of her own neck. "Mierelan Lutrassi, you are a very lucky woman."

"Lucky? I would have drowned if you hadn't pulled me up!"

"That too." Seira's expression didn't change. Sila stifled a laugh.

Fury clearing her head, Mierelan stepped in front of both women, hands on hips as she glared. "You two are _impossible_! I risked my life in that Light-forsaken lake to satisfy _your_ curiosity, and now you think it _amusing_ that I only found some kind of _monster_ which nearly -"

"You found a box."

Everyone turned. Shaila stood a short distance away, next to a black cube two feet in diameter. She patted the cube. "Seira pulled it out of the water along with you."

"Oh!" Mierelan ran to kneel beside the cube, running her hands over it. There was the round green panel, the impossibly-smooth black surface, a groove around the top of one side. "I forgot - I found it on the lake bed – what _is_ it?"

"It's a box, I said. It's hollow" – she rapped it with a fist – "and it has a lid. But I can't open it."

"Really?" Seira stuck her fingers in the groove, and pulled until she was panting. "No, I can't either." Saidar surrounded her, and her frown deepened. "My weaves just slide off."

Sila joined them. "Seira, do you think it's wise to try opening a Power-sealed box found in the Blight?"

"No." Seira tugged at it again, then slapped it in frustration. "It seems like a ter'angreal of some sort. Hmmm. Some of them are activated by verbal commands."

Heart beginning to pound again, Mierelan embraced the Source and wove a shield around herself. She sensed Seira's weaves coiling around the box and slipping off, as if it were encased in melting ice.. _If this thing worries even Sila…_

Seira recited Old Tongue words: Open, Reveal, Unlock. None worked.

The Trolloc which had caught Mierelan peered down at them. "Khadh wida?"

"Schpika," Sila replied. "Yerg nelayi—"

Both Sisters gasped. The slick aura around the box had suddenly vanished. Seira stared at Sila. "What did you just do?"

Sila looked confused. "She asked what we were doing, and I said we were trying to open the box—"

"And you said it in Trolloc! That must be the command to unlock it—'open' in the Trolloc tongue!"

Mierelan frowned. "Why would anyone design a box to be opened by any Trolloc who found it?"

"Perhaps the speaker has to be human. Oh, this must be _very_ interesting." She grasped the box's sides and pulled. Nothing happened.

"Maybe it needs to be touched. Sila put your hand here and say that word again." She pointed at the green panel.

Sila obeyed. "Nelayi."

With a click, the panel popped up. Hissing in satisfaction, Seira threw back the lid. Despite her shield, mindless terror propelled Mierelan nearly to the lake – but she stopped short at Shaila's cry of "What _are _those things?"

"They're…books." Sila sounded more puzzled than ever.

"_What?"_ Mierelan ran back to the box and looked inside. Sure enough, there lay two books bound in plain black leather. Seira picked up the topmost one, threw it open, and stared. "Oh, light," she whispered.

"What is it?" Mierelan peered at the book's first page. Its paper was snow-white and impossibly thin. Soot-black words curled across it in neat script – words in the Old Tongue. Seira's wide eyes were fixed on a single line.

"Look." She ran a trembling finger alone the line. "Ishar…Morrad…Chuain."

"Err, what does that mean?"

"According to the oldest of old records, it was _Aginor's original name_."

A thrill tingled down Mierelan's spine. "This book could be three thousand years old."

"And it mentions Aginor!" She turned a few pages to reveal a labeled diagram of what had to be a Trolloc. More pages: charts, bizarre sketches, paragraphs topped by dates, all in unreadable Old Tongue.

"It looks a bit like the notebooks Eleara keeps when observing creatures in the field," Mierelan said.

"So much information! And I know so little Old Tongue, only what I picked up from other old books. What about you?"

"I know almost none." She'd never tried to learn. With so much to discover about the present world, there was no time for studying the past.

"I can read it," said Sila.

Mierelan started. "You can?"

"I _was _raised to be a lady, you know. It's a common study for noble children, and my parents worked hard to keep me indoors, away from the Blight. And I'm skilled at learning languages."

She took the book and flipped through it. "I don't understand half of these words. But I think you're right, Mierelan. This does look like a research journal. Bloodlines…prototype creatures…oh my, I wonder what _that_ was designed for...observations of behavior...I think more than one hand was writing this…"

"Light," Seira moaned. "Oh, light. Oh, _Light_."

"The Light had nothing to do with it," Mierelan snapped. How frustrating, to have such a treasure trove just out of her mind's reach! She opened the other book, revealing pages filled with Old Tongue script, without even an illustration to hint at its meaning. "Sila, can you read this?"

Sila set the first book aside and took the second, opening it to the front page. "Ah, that's more intelligible. It says:

"The world is changing. Unimaginable forces have been unleashed, and the wonders we took for granted are vanishing as nations are torn apart. My master's creations – and mine – have been twisted into agents of this destruction, but may themselves be annihilated in the process. But unlike the other treasures, they live and reproduce. Some few may thus continue, and thrive in a more peaceful Age, when humans can love them once again. On this hope, I leave my master's records and my diary from the days of their creation, guarded by my own masterpiece species, and sealed by a human-uttered password in their tongue. If their secrets have been lost, all may be found here. Carcalle Glinnen, Assistant to Ishar Morrad Chuain."

A silent moment passed. Then Seira threw back her head and screamed, a feral cry tearing the still air. Trollocs rushed in from all directions, brandishing their weapons, before Mierelan tackled Seira and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Shut up, you idiot!"

Sila held a hand to her own heart, her expression a mix of shock and amusement. "Seira, you scream like an angry Dragkhar! Do you want to attract every creature in the Blight?"

"I'm sorry." Seira pushed Mierelan away, tears in her eyes. "No, I don't need to attract them. Everything I could learn about them is right here." She caressed the books, and placed them reverently in their box.

Mierelan seized the chance. "Does this mean we can return to Tar Valon now? Because you badly need to re-learn some lessons in Aes Sedai serenity."

"Yes, yes, we can go back tomorrow. My maps will guide us to Shienar from here. But I'm more interested in learning to read Old Tongue, as quickly as possible. Aginor's own words, and the memories of his assistant! Carcalle sounds -"

"—willfully innocent about Aginor's intentions," Sila finished. "Worse than me. Even I know that Shadowspawn were created only to kill humans. Peace between us is impossible, and love-blinded Carcalle obviously refused to accept that truth."

"But you're an exception," said Seira.

"No. In choosing to love Shadowspawn, I became an enemy of humanity. You, Seira, are an exception. You can thrive in the human world, visit us peaceably for a little while, and return."

"But _you _made that possible. I'm so grateful, shadow-sister."

"My pleasure. I've enjoyed being with my own species one more time."

"Yes, I'm glad we didn't eat you," Shaila added. "I'll never leave the Blight, but it was fun learning about the lands beyond it. And finally knowing what's in that lake. Mama, can we go back to camp now? Mierelan's shivering and I'm hungry."

A/N: An unlikely find? A crossover encounter? Of course. RJ didn't describe stasis boxes at all, only mentioned them, so my guesses at their appearance and nature are as good as anyone's. I've planned a few more chapters, but might or might not eventually get them written. Thanks for accompanying me on this journey through WoT-inspired madness!


End file.
